


Buying the Pot

by ZombieCheeze



Series: Make Me A Sandwich [5]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCheeze/pseuds/ZombieCheeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, Jongin doesn't feel like much of a dancer, but that doesn't matter too much to Kris and Chanyeol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buying the Pot

**Author's Note:**

> Written/posted Apr 2014. Part 5/End of Sandwich series.

Everyone says Jongin’s the best dancer in EXO, but right now—staring at himself in the mirror through dripping bangs pasted to his forehead—he feels like anything but. 

 

Frustrated, he buries his face in his towel to mop away some of the sweat dripping into his stinging, tired eyes before crossing the room to pause the thumping music.  The empty practice room seems suddenly cavernous in the silence, and Jongin checks his watch.  He’s been here well past sunset, but he doesn’t feel like he’s made much progress.

 

However, a quick, scalding-hot shower in the company locker rooms has him feeling refreshed, and as he pulls on his clean shorts and socks, he resolves to make one last attempt before calling it quits.  It’s not so late that Kyungsoo will be angry with him for missing dinner, and not so early that he’ll have to fight the evening rush.

 

The shade is still lowered behind the window of their practice room, and Jongin pushes the door open, startled to see someone sitting in the corner:  His first instinct is to back out swiftly and shut the door, embarrassed—but he doesn’t, because the person in the corner is Chanyeol. 

 

How strange.  Jongin licks his lips.

 

“How long have you been here?” Jongin says, closing the door behind him.  Chanyeol grins.

 

“A minute.” He says easily, tipping his head back so he can see past the bill of his snapback.  His deep voice echoes in the empty room until it seems to fill Jongin’s ears.  “How’s the practice coming?”

 

“Eh.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but he’s already sweating, because Chanyeol has him feeling inexplicably cornered.  He wonders, not without reason, where Kris is, and whether he’ll make an appearance tonight, and then with considerable effort pushes the thought away. “Not as great as I hoped.”

 

“What are you having trouble with?” Chanyeol’s eyebrows rise in genuine concern.  “I mean, I know the rest of us don’t dance the same parts as you, but…”

 

“Nothing major,” Jongin says, sitting down on the floor next to Chanyeol’s legs and leaning against the wall beneath the mirrors.  “I’ve just got a mental block on the snake-arms.  I was going to do another practice run, but you’re here.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t get the snake-arms.  But why do I have any impact on your practice?”

 

“You make me self-conscious.” Jongin fidgets with a fingernail, gnawing at the uneven edge where he’d broken it against the doorknob earlier that day.  Chanyeol snickers unexpectedly at the response, but he composes it quickly into a cough, and Jongin ignores it.  He’s tired, and mostly confused at why Chanyeol’s even _here_ , though he has his own—very substantial—theory.  No part of him is opposed to it, but he’s not holding his breath.

 

“Well then, let’s dance together.” Chanyeol offers after a moment.  “I can always do with extra practice.”

 

“I’m sure you’re fine.” Jongin says as he gets to his feet, and when he offers a hand to Chanyeol to help him up too, Chanyeol’s grip around his wrist sends a tingle up his arm that has nothing to do with exertion.  “But yeah, that’s cool.  Let’s get started.”

 

He presses play on the stereo system and scurries into place, mentally ticking off time in his head.  Chanyeol steps up behind him, and Jongin tries to concentrate on the motions, but it’s not easy because he can _feel_ Chanyeol so close behind him.  Chanyeol’s hand appears at the edge of his vision, creeping over his shoulder, and Jongin clings doggedly to his focus as he pushes through the dance. 

 

He knocks elbows with Chanyeol halfway through the opening, and it’s nobody’s fault; still, he curses and wants to quit on the spot out of rising frustration.  But instead, he takes a deep breath and finishes the rest of the dance perfectly, to his own surprise and satisfaction, so he doesn’t consider it a total loss.

 

“I didn’t see anything wrong with your moves.” Chanyeol says as Jongin dabs sweat away from his forehead with his shirtsleeve.  “I think you look good.”

 

Jongin glances at Chanyeol warily, conscious of the force of Chanyeol’s gaze, and Chanyeol grins as if he’s in on some big joke that Jongin hasn’t realized yet.  Jongin is equal to the joke, though, and he takes his place once again, backing up against Chanyeol abruptly and bumping against his body.  Chanyeol draws a sharp breath, and Jongin pretends not to notice.  His body does, though.  He ignores that too.

 

“Let’s try one more round.” Jongin says, a touch breathlessly, and Chanyeol braces his palm against Jongin’s shoulderblade as the song loops back and plays from the beginning.  Jongin barely suppresses a shiver, though of what nature he’s not entirely sure yet—nervousness? desire? eagerness?—and brings his arms up.  Chanyeol’s hand slips up over his shoulder, twisting in the air, and the other glides past his ribs; Jongin missteps almost at once.  Seething inwardly, he restarts the song, and Chanyeol laughs softly, retracting his hands lingeringly, as if he’s hesitant to let go of Jongin at all.

 

The song begins, and this time, Jongin thinks he’s got it beat—he certainly feels more confident with this practice than he has all night.  But when Chanyeol’s hands get brave too, and actually press against Jongin’s chest, hot through his t-shirt, Jongin’s breath hitches and he’s suddenly frozen in surprise and instant, painful arousal.  His cues are suddenly racing past him and long-gone before he can even register their presence again, but he’s not paying attention anymore.  All his attention is on the single, white-hot point of Chanyeol’s hand where it meets his body.

 

“What’s wrong?” Chanyeol says over the music, but his hands don’t move, and Jongin bites his lip until he feels a sharp pain.  He’d been expecting it, somehow, but it’s still hitting him like a thunderbolt.  “You okay?” The teasing quality of his voice sends heat coursing through Jongin’s body.

 

Jongin doesn’t say anything.  He simply reaches for Chanyeol’s right hand, the one resting low on his ribs, and drags Chanyeol’s palm over his own stomach so there’s no confusion (and maybe because he just likes the way Chanyeol’s hand feels).  And then, slowly, he pushes it lower still, until he’s pressing Chanyeol’s hand against the crotch of his loose shorts.  Chanyeol’s fingers curl around the shape of Jongin’s cock beneath the fabric and Jongin hears him let out a long, ragged breath.  His other hand, the one draped over Jongin’s shoulder, presses flat to splay fingers across Jongin’s chest and not-so-accidentally over Jongin’s nipple. 

 

Jongin’s lungs suddenly unlock, and he drags in a greedy breath to rub his hardening nipple against Chanyeol’s fingertips.  “Wondered when you’d come find me.” Jongin says, winded, and Chanyeol grins at Jongin in the mirror.  He’s flushed, and his smile has that typical touch of lunacy to it, but he pinches Jongin’s nipple through his t-shirt to coax a reaction. 

 

Heat explodes through Jongin’s whole body, and all the strength in his exhausted legs suddenly vanishes.  He reaches back to steady himself by grabbing Chanyeol’s hips and pulling their bodies flush together, front to back.  The hardness of Chanyeol’s cock is evident against the back of Jongin’s thigh, and he grinds his hips forward just slightly at the contact before mastering the instinct.

 

“Maybe you should sit.” Chanyeol says, his lips against Jongin’s ear under the pretense of being heard over the music, and Jongin snaps.  He whips around and grabs Chanyeol by the shoulders, shoving him up against the mirror, their mouths a half-inch apart.  Chanyeol’s expression of surprise gives way to a grin almost immediately; Jongin doesn’t close the space between them, relishing the momentary advantage he’s attained.

 

“You don’t have to be cute with me, hyung.” He murmurs, and Chanyeol’s tongue flicks out over his lower lip.

 

“I’m a little insulted that you think I’m _just_ cute.” He hooks fingers into the elastic of Jongin’s shorts—the faint brush of Chanyeol’s knuckles against his bare skin has Jongin’s whole body thrumming with need—and jerks him forward, his hips automatically rolling into Jongin’s to rub up against him, striking a low simmer in the pit of his stomach that’s intensifying with every smooth motion of Chanyeol’s hands over his warm skin.

 

He lunges forward and Chanyeol meets him halfway.  He’s eager, a little rough and sloppy where his tongue skims wetly over the seam of Jongin’s lips to slip past them.  Chanyeol presses his knee between Jongin’s legs, feeling the hard shape of Jongin’s dick against his own thigh.

 

“Fuck.” Jongin says, the word muffled into Chanyeol’s mouth as their tongues roll against each other, hot and slippery, his whole body tingling where he’s pressed against Chanyeol’s, even despite the layers of clothing separating them.  Chanyeol grips Jongin’s hips as he sinks to the floor, sliding down the mirror.  Jongin is helpless to resist, his knees buckling automatically until he’s straddling Chanyeol’s lap, his aching knees protesting at the hard floor in contrast to the rest of his body urging him toward Chanyeol.  He bites back a gasp as Chanyeol sticks cool hands up his shirt.  Against the heat of his body, the contrast is startling, but delicious.

 

Chanyeol tugs Jongin’s shirt over his head, mussing his damp hair and grinning as Jongin blinks at him, looking surprised and ruffled all at once.

 

“Is this okay?” Chanyeol says breathlessly against Jongin’s lips, even as his hands skim Jongin’s bare sides.

  
“Shut up,” Jongin says, his voice ragged, “and touch me.”

 

Chanyeol shuts up, largely because Jongin’s mouth is sealed to his once more, and it’s plush and soft and they _all_ know how badly Chanyeol wanted Jongin, even before the start of _Showtime_.  Jongin’s stomach twists faintly, and though he’s well aware from the gossiping of a choice few other members that this isn’t something that’s really a problem with Kris and Chanyeol, he has to know.

 

“So where’s Kris?” Jongin says, as casually as though he’s asking about the weather even as he wrests Chanyeol’s baggy sweatshirt over his head to reveal long limbs and pale skin between the gaps of his dark fingers where he spreads them over Chanyeol’s bare chest.

 

“Right here.” Says a voice from behind him, and Jongin leaps up out of Chanyeol’s lap as though scalded, cold shock drenching him for the second time that night.  Chanyeol keeps him where he is with a hand on his elbow that brings him back down into his lap, though Jongin is still twisted around, his eyes fixed on Kris.

 

Kris, who’s slouching calmly in the opposite corner, examining his fingernails, his impossibly long legs crossed in front of him.  “Jesus.” Jongin exhales, putting a hand to his chest unconsciously.   

 

“Don’t stop on my account.” Kris says easily, smirking.  He makes no move to get up, even though his cheeks are colored with heat at watching the display in front of him.  One of Chanyeol’s warm hands settles on Jongin’s hip, jolting him back to the present, and the other one presses against his crotch, wrapping lightly around the heavy shape of his dick through his shorts.  Jongin lets out a little moan, but he hasn’t looked away from Kris, and Kris bites his lip at the noise.

 

Finally, Jongin turns back to Chanyeol, who’s now running his fingertips teasingly beneath the waistband of Jongin’s shorts, gently snapping the elastic against his hot skin.

 

“Is he just going to watch?” Jongin asks haltingly.  Chanyeol hums against his neck, sucking the tender flesh between his lips to leave a tiny dark mark, and then Kris’s voice comes again, much closer this time.

 

“Well, I could.” He murmurs in Jongin’s ear, long pale fingers settling on his shoulders.  They’re cold, like usual, and Jongin’s skin puckers in instantaneous gooseflesh.  He lets out another soft noise, his head tipping forward as Chanyeol nips at the side of his neck.  “But it depends on what you want.”

 

“No,” Jongin says belatedly, arching his back as Chanyeol begins to shimmy his shorts down his legs, “No, I—I want you too.”

 

“Yeah?” Kris leans over Jongin’s shoulder and turns his head to kiss him, while Chanyeol strokes light touches over Jongin’s bared thighs.  Ticklish, Jongin squirms and wriggles in Chanyeol’s lap to assist Chanyeol in pulling his shorts and high socks completely off, while Kris’s hands coast idly over his body, teasing here, stroking, rubbing until Jongin wrenches away from his mouth with a gasp.

 

Overwhelmed in the best possible way, Jongin flings his arms around Chanyeol’s neck and clings as if for dear life, panting into Chanyeol’s neck and grinding his hips downward to make it clear just how desperate they’re making him.

 

He lifts his head from Chanyeol’s shoulder and catches sight of himself in the mirror, and he sees that Kris is watching him too, Jongin’s earlobe caught between his smiling lips.  A smirk flashes across his own swollen mouth, and he takes one of Kris’s hands and drags it down from his nipple to where his cock is jutting against Chanyeol’s bare belly.

 

“Chanyeol, I think your boy is getting impatient.” Kris murmurs against Jongin’s neck even as he wraps his long fingers around the thick, hot weight of his cock.  Jongin lets out a sigh of faint relief at the contact, his hands encircling Chanyeol’s biceps and squeezing.

 

“Oh?” Chanyeol says, holding Jongin high on the ribs, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Jongin’s nipples.  Jongin makes a soft noise between a moan and a whimper, and Kris strokes a long hand over Jongin’s throat as Jongin tips his head back onto Kris’s shoulder.  Kris squeezes his hand around Jongin’s dick, just tight enough to make Jongin gasp with need, and Chanyeol frowns and bats Kris’s hand away sharply.

 

He takes over with a fist around Jongin’s cock, his movements slow and clumsy for a moment until he finds a more comfortable position for his wrist, and Kris is kissing him again, and between the two of them he’s got no breath left even to moan.

 

“ _Hyung_ —” Jongin breathes when Kris takes a nipple between long fingers, too winded to really say much, but the word is wrung from his throat helplessly.  He doesn’t even know which of them he’s addressing.  It’s all too much—Chanyeol’s hot palm stroking smoothly along the underside of his dick, of the shape of Kris’s cock pressed into the cleft of his ass through loose basketball shorts, of Chanyeol’s ragged breathing as Jongin attacks his mouth to keep himself from breaking apart too early.

 

“Can I fuck you?” Chanyeol says into Jongin’s panting mouth, and Jongin breaks away to take a deep breath, eyes wide even as he ruts forward automatically into Chanyeol’s grip.

 

“Yes,” He murmurs, grabbing at Chanyeol’s hair to ground himself, “but what about Kris hyung?” The last word dies out on his tongue as long fingers suddenly trace up the insides of his thighs from behind, teasing him; he curves unconsciously into the touch, coming up on his knees to urge those hands into going right where he wants them.  He tries to look over his shoulder, but then he catches Kris’s eye in the mirror.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” Kris says with a laugh, “Just enjoy yourself.”

 

Chanyeol lets out a long, shaking breath, cupping Jongin’s balls in one warm hand and squeezing gently before sliding his fingers up to drag them down the cleft of Jongin’s ass.  Jongin whimpers, pushing back against the touch, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat as he swallows a louder noise out of instinct alone.

 

“You don’t have to worry about being heard.” Kris mutters knowingly, and Chanyeol lets out a soft, low moan that might have something to do with the way Jongin bites Chanyeol’s lip sharply.  “Nobody but us here.  Not even Joonmyun to bother you.”

 

“He doesn’t bother me.” Jongin says, smiling against Chanyeol’s mouth even as his tongue slips out to mesh sloppily with Chanyeol’s again.  “He’s a pretty fantastic fuck.”

 

“So we hear.” Kris says dryly.  “He apparently isn’t much a fan of all the noise we make...”

 

Jongin moans, loud and unrestrained, when Kris holds him open with one hand, teasing around his entrance with the other, rubbing the pad of his thumb rapidly over the tight pucker until Jongin’s breathing breaks hot and panting against Chanyeol’s cheek.

 

“Fuck, please.” Jongin whines, glassy-eyed and puffy-mouthed where he’s been biting his own lips, red and swollen from where Chanyeol has sucked on them like candy.   “No more teasing.  Just do it.”

 

Kris passes Chanyeol a little bottle, and Jongin takes a deep breath, arching his back again, shameless in his need and desperation.  Kris murmurs something obscene and braces against Jongin’s ass, kneading the firm flesh before spreading him open again for Chanyeol’s fingers, now dripping wet and cold with lube.

 

“Chanyeol,” Jongin mutters, his neat fingernails digging into the back of Chanyeol’s neck.  Chanyeol bites his own lip, drags fingertips across Jongin’s tight entrance before sinking only the tip of one finger inside Jongin at first, then another right away, stretching him open shallowly.  Jongin is panting already, his hips rutting erratically against the open air, and when Kris strokes big hands up the insides of his thighs and converge on his dick, he’s pretty sure he’s going to explode.

 

But Kris moves away after a couple of slow, tight strokes, and Chanyeol finally buries his fingers deeper, gritting his teeth against the pain in his wrist but not daring to move them.  “God, you’re tight.” Chanyeol hisses.  “Fuck, I’m worried I won’t last.”

 

“Why’s that?” Jongin says belatedly, twitching as Chanyeol twists his fingers sharply.

 

“He’s been wanting to fuck you for-fucking- _ever_.” Kris interrupts, fondling Jongin’s balls lightly, and Jongin’s moan is soft and high-pitched in reply.  Chanyeol flushes redder than ever, were it possible, grinning awkwardly.

 

“No shit,” Jongin says in a strained voice as Chanyeol adds a third finger, throat bobbing as he adjusts to the change, “with all of hyung’s dick-chasing on Showtime, the whole _world_ knows.”

 

But Jongin’s breath gives out again after that as Chanyeol slips his fingers out and pulls him forward with hands on his hips to settle Jongin in his lap more firmly.  Jongin’s thighs are quivering as he balances clumsily over Chanyeol.

 

He bites his lip at the press of Chanyeol’s dick, and then just the head pops in—and the slide is easy, generously lubed, and Jongin’s well-prepared for it.  It’s fucking delicious.  Jongin’s fingers scrape against Chanyeol’s short hair, digging into his scalp before finding purchase in the longer hairs on his crown and pulling for all he’s worth.

 

Chanyeol’s hands are still wet with lube and slipping over Jongin’s hips as he moves to seat himself fully inside Jongin’s body, and Kris’s hands cup Jongin’s face to bring him up for another kiss, this time almost upside down.  They’ve only just started, but Jongin finds himself riding dangerously close to the edge already.

 

Chanyeol’s lips latch to the sharp knot of Jongin’s Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he moans, his hands sunk deep into the honey-colored flesh of Jongin’s waist to pull him closer on each upthrust.  Kris’s hands splay across the small of his back, thumbs bridging the tan flesh, slipping up over his ribs to pinch and tug lightly at his hard nipples until Jongin is shivering with the stimulation.

 

And he’s no longer moaning, instead his hands reaching back to cling to Kris’s shoulders with significant strength, swollen lips framing breathless whispers that don’t make any sense at all.  His slitted eyes dimly take in Chanyeol’s flushed, strained expression and the snarl that flashes across his lips as they make eye contact.  Kris is panting against him, supporting Jongin with pale hands on his hips, pulling and pushing him against Chanyeol’s shallow thrusts to give him more depth and a better angle.  It’s definitely working.

 

“Shit,” Chanyeol says, high-pitched and shaky.  “Shit, I’m gonna—oh god, Jongin, no, no, fuck—” But Jongin is both ruthless and greedy, and when Chanyeol slows to ward off the impending end, Jongin forces his hips down hard, impaling himself in one sharp thrust.  Chanyeol tosses his head back against the mirror and comes, his back arched and the tendons in his neck standing out with the force of his orgasm.  Jongin feels the twitch and pulse of Chanyeol’s dick deep inside him, as hard as an iron rod in his belly, and a twinge of regret rings like a little bell inside Jongin’s head.  He shouldn’t have made Chanyeol come; he’s left himself hanging, and he’s not ready to end this just yet.

 

But the regret is short-lived.  Chanyeol lifts Jongin off of his lap with a stupendous effort, shuddering as he slides out, and Kris is there to catch him when Jongin’s knees give way again from the prolonged endeavor of holding himself up.

 

“How are you feeling?” Kris says quietly, gathering Jongin into his arms.

 

“More,” Jongin blurts out before he can stop himself, looking at Chanyeol, who’s wiping the sweat from his face with his own discarded t-shirt.  “Not done.”

 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Kris replies, now breathless and excited-sounding, and Jongin turns his head, Kris meeting him halfway in a kiss that’s less lips and more tongue and spit and panting breath.  Jongin arches back, rubbing himself against Kris insistently, and the silkiness of Kris’s nylon basketball shorts feel like sandpaper against his overstimulated skin.

 

“Hurry up.” Jongin begs, and Kris’s hands are shaking as he pushes his shorts down around his thighs, not even bothering to take them all the way off before pulling Jongin into him.  Chanyeol is watching, his half-lidded eyes glittering with intensity, still catching his breath and slumped against the mirror, but his dick twitches with interest as Kris lines himself and, with a smooth, easy roll of his hips, sinks all the way in.

 

He’s thicker than Chanyeol, if only just, but Jongin’s only concerned with the fact that Kris is inside him and already moving shallowly, the length and thickness of his cock at this angle hitting everything just right even with such slight movements.  Kris catches the bottle Chanyeol tosses to him and adds more lube, and Jongin lets out a long shaky breath at the coolness of the gel, which is refreshing rather than startling on his hot skin now.

 

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says, scooting forward until he’s level with Jongin’s flushed face, but anything he meant to say afterward is silenced when Jongin lurches forward and covers Chanyeol’s mouth with his own.  Jongin’s lips are even softer now, silky and swollen with the abuse they’ve taken, and his kisses are punctuated with breathless gasps and little whines and moans.  Chanyeol is half-hard again already watching Kris reach forward and grab Jongin’s shoulder, his hips pounding into Jongin so hard it makes his whole body shake.

 

Jongin tosses his head, wrenching his mouth from Chanyeol’s to gasp at air, Kris gritting his teeth as he slams into Jongin again and again, sharp jackhammer blows that push Jongin forward slightly on his aching knees.  Jongin gulps for breath, moaning and gasping alternately, pawing the open air blindly for Chanyeol’s hands but unable to steady himself against Kris’s thrusts without bracing his palms against the studio floor.  Chanyeol reaches around to take Jongin’s cock in one sweating palm, Jongin’s balls drawn up tight with how hard he is, the tip wet with clear precome.

 

“Shit,” Jongin says loudly, suddenly, as Chanyeol strokes him from base to tip, and Kris echoes him wordlessly, a harsh noise in the back of his throat.

 

“Gonna come.” Kris growls, his fingers sinking into Jongin’s waist.  Jongin lets out a long sigh, elbows giving way and slumping into Chanyeol’s lap as hot come flows over Chanyeol’s palm and wrist.  Kris is only a second behind, his muscles snapping rigid as his hips work automatically, his long strokes reduced to tight little thrusts, and both of them come down, shaking as Kris pulls himself from Jongin’s exhausted body, and Jongin sinks trembling completely to the floor, pressing his face to the cool surface.

 

Chanyeol tucks Jongin’s clothes beneath him on the floor to make him more comfortable, and Kris splashes cold water on his hands and Jongin’s body to cool him off.  Jongin’s eyes are closed for several minutes, his breathing slowing gradually until it seems as if he might be asleep, his swollen lips parted and his eyelids flickering.

 

“I hate both of you.” Jongin’s voice is muffled from where he throws his arm up over his head.

 

“Come again?” Kris says, looking over from where he and Chanyeol are leaning lazily on one another against the full-length mirror, sweaty and flushed and exhilarated.

 

“Not a chance.  I won’t be able to sit for a week.” Jongin snaps, his eyes still closed.  “This is not going to help with dance practice at _all_.”

 

“I never promised I would _help_ you with dance practice.  I said we could practice together.” Chanyeol says smugly, and Jongin flings a balled-up sock at him.

 

“But it was good, right?  I seem to remember you telling me to hurry up.” Kris says, relish in his voice as Jongin flushes again.

 

“Yeah, and you definitely said I could fuck you.” Chanyeol adds knowledgeably.  He reaches for Jongin, who rises onto his hands and knees painfully and approaches Chanyeol, flopping down heavily in his lap just to hear him gasp in surprise at the extra weight.

 

“Yeah, it was pretty fucking amazing.” Jongin admits, shrugging, and Kris leans past Chanyeol to nibble at Jongin’s salty skin.  The little touch is magnified by the sensitivity of his buzzing nerves, and he shivers, biting his lip.

 

“Thanks for joining us.” Chanyeol says, and Kris laughs at him.

 

“You say that like he’s a guest on a TV show.”

 

“Well, more of a series, really,” Chanyeol grins.  Jongin tips his head back onto Chanyeol’s shoulder and they rest there for a few more minutes, enjoying the last of the fuzzy-warm atmosphere as it drifts away.

 

They get dressed in silence, though Chanyeol slows the process considerably for Jongin, unable to keep his hands off the incredible lines of Jongin’s body.  Admittedly, Jongin isn’t exactly opposed to this, and they spend a few minutes making out languidly against the mirrored walls, Kris pressed against Jongin’s back with hands up his shirt and mouth on the back of his neck.

 

“So we missed dinner,” Chanyeol remarks offhandedly as they let themselves out of the studio; the whole building is empty, though there are few fans waiting for them outside the door.  “Pretty sure Kyungsoo is going to stab us with forks and then serve us to the rest of the group.”

 

“Relax,” Kris says, pulling his hoodie on despite the late spring air; after the heat inside the practice room, it seems almost chilly outside.  “He knows we’re here with you.”

 

Jongin, who’d been silent this whole time and leaning alternately on Kris or Chanyeol for support, splutters on a swallow of water and dribbles half of it down his front.  “He _what_.”

 

“I think Kyungsoo should be the least of your worries.” Comes a voice as they begin to mount the stairs to their shared apartment, and all three of them look up to see Joonmyun waiting at the top of the stairs, arms folded, looking annoyed.  “It’s about time you got home.”

 

“Hey.” Kris says, his voice instantly taking on a layer of grease that rivals even Baekhyun’s most smarmy seductions.  “Where’ve you been?  You should get out of the house more, Joonmyun.”

 

Jongin rolls his eyes, knowing this isn’t his battle, but still, he can’t help dawdling in the entryway, toeing off his shoes slowly so as to eavesdrop.

 

Joonmyun doesn’t say anything, refusing to rise to the bait, but the redness in his face tells all of them that he already has.  Kris smirks to himself, making sure Joonmyun sees it too, because they both know where the cards lie, and Joonmyun is only fooling himself.

 

“I wish you’d stop doing this.” Joonmyun says under his breath, toeing off his house slippers behind Kris as they all make their way inside.

 

“Why?  Jealous?”

 

“No!” Joonmyun says, and everything from his body language to his facial expression tells Kris he’s lying through his teeth.  “But what if something goes wrong?  I don’t want to see problems in the group because of this!” Jongin covers his mouth with a hand and hastily conceals his laugh in a hacking cough.

 

“Come on, Joonmyun, the only problem so far has been that you didn’t stick around for the whole thing.  Why do you think we keep trying to get you to come back?”

 

“I’m not going to.” Joonmyun says, shaking his head like a dog bothered by flies.  “I can’t.  It was a mistake.”

 

“Suit yourself, Joonmyun, but you can’t tell the rest of the group what to do or not do with us.  Plus, that’s kind of hypocritical when I know your schedule runs through everyone _except_ us.  I know you did Sehun last night and Zitao the night before.  And Jongin the night before that.” Kris says slyly in a low voice, hanging his sweatshirt up on the rack as if they’re discussing dinner, completely unbothered by Joonmyun’s agitation. 

 

Chanyeol is hunched over a pot on the stove, munching some cold leftovers; Joonmyun glares at Chanyeol as if he’s the one needling him, defeated yet still defiant, needing to vent his spleen on something but somehow recognizing that Chanyeol is too imperturbable to provide much satisfaction as a chew toy.  He turns on a heel and stalks out of the kitchen, fuming; Kris raises his eyebrows significantly at Chanyeol before helping himself to what Chanyeol’s eating.  Jongin approaches when Chanyeol flings an arm out to him, and both he and Kris kiss Jongin good night without much urgency.

 

Joonmyun retires to bed shortly afterward, frowning and muttering, and he closes the door in a bewildered Jongdae’s face.  Thankfully, an excited Sehun and Zitao quickly collect Jongdae from his hurt and confusion, and all three disappear into their bedroom at once.

 

“He’s jealous.  Or something.” Chanyeol says without any surprise or heat, slurping cold soup from his spoon.  Jongin rolls his eyes.

 

“I’m going to take a shower.  You guys should figure out what to do about Joonmyun-hyung, because this is just out of control.” Jongin pulls away from them after a moment, and Kris and Chanyeol share a glance as he leaves the kitchen, their interest snared by this vague statement.

 

Kris nods absentmindedly, spoon hanging from his mouth.  “What do you think we should do?” He asks, voice muffled.

 

“Seduce him.  Again.  And make it permanent this time.” Chanyeol says unhesitatingly.

 

“You think?” Kris murmurs thoughtfully.  Chanyeol’s smirk is the only answer he needs.


End file.
